


A New Course of Study

by fishnet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Being Raped as Part of Education, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Inexperienced Victim, Medical Examination, Multiple Orgasms, Sexual Slavery, Vibrators, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-04-23 13:56:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishnet/pseuds/fishnet
Summary: In their last year of boarding school, it’s time for Olivia and her schoolmates to learn the true purpose of their education. And that begins with a thorough medical examination.





	A New Course of Study

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wolfpeach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfpeach/gifts).



The girls were being called one by one into the infirmary for their annual physical, and Olivia had begun the morning with a case of nerves, remembering last year’s awkward disrobing and the humiliation of a measuring tape round her bare breasts. Now, after waiting half the morning for her turn, she was petrified with fear. The girls who went in for their exams stayed far longer than she remembered from previous years, and came out red-faced and weeping, or deadly pale and shaking as if fevered.

The door opened, and Madeleine stumbled out, the marks of tears plain to see on her flushed cheeks.

Olivia caught at her sleeve. “Is it true he puts his finger in your – does it hurt very much?” 

Madeleine shook her head, but Olivia could see tears welling up in her eyes again. “He’ll tell you everything,” she said, her voice wavering.

The door opened again, and Dr. Graves emerged, clearing his throat. “No talking, please,” he said in his stern voice. “Miss Gates?”

Olivia stood and reluctantly followed him into the examination room. She remembered the smell of disinfectant and the measuring tapes and calipers, but there were new instruments laid out on a table as well, a bewildering variety of them. There was also an examination table that looked terribly uncomfortable to sit upon. Surely he wouldn’t have to spread her legs like that, just to observe how she’d grown?

“Disrobe, please.”  Her face went hot and prickly at once. She lingered over the buttons of her school uniform, slipping out of it finally to stand barefoot in nothing but her shift. They’d been strictly forbidden to wear their stays or stockings today. Olivia knew the doctor would want to measure her bare breasts again, and she waited for him to ask her to strip to the waist.

“Please take everything off,” Dr. Graves said. Despite the “please,” she knew it wasn’t really a request. One of the girls had protested having her breasts measured the year before, and been caned for it until she couldn’t sit down for a week.

With trembling fingers she slipped her shift off over her head. She’d heard rumors about the examination this year. This was their last year of school, and she’d heard some of the girls whisper that before they left school and went into service, they had to be proven to be virgins, somehow.

“Lift your arms above your head,” he said, and he passed the measuring tape around her breasts. It made her nipples harden, which made her feel strangely hot and uncomfortable. He measured her hips as well. “Stand with your feet apart.” She complied, and before she could guess what he intended to do, he lowered the measuring tape and measured the length of her mound from where the hair first started to curl above her pubic bone to where the cleft between her buttocks started.

The touch of his hands, and the pressure of the tape, left a strange heat behind it. She was miserably ready to throw her clothes back on and flee. “Is that all?”

“I’m afraid it’s a more thorough examination this year,” Dr. Graves said. “You've had your eighteenth birthday, I see. I understand that next year you’re to go into service.”

“We’re being trained to be ladies’ maids,” she said. She and the other girls were foundlings, and had no other home but the Academy. “The headmistress has promised to find us positions.”

“She has positions for you, it’s true. But you’re old enough now to understand the nature of those positions. You’ll be serving gentlemen in the bedchamber.”

She felt as if ice had flooded her veins. “That can’t be true.”

“The sooner you accept it, the better,” the doctor said, in a brisk tone that she found easier to believe than theatrical menace. “What else did you think you’d be fit for? With no family, and poor breeding, you’re fortunate that the headmistress has found useful service for you. Permanent service. You needn’t worry that you’ll be used and discarded. You’ll be valuable property, and if your first master tires of you, there will be others waiting to take you up.”

Olivia couldn’t answer around the knot in her throat. The tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She tried not to imagine that future, and to focus all her attention on this room and the man in front of her, as mortifying as standing naked in front of him might be. He was a doctor, after all.

“Good, no more protesting,” Dr. Graves said briskly. “Best to face facts. Now, your education this year will be to instruct you in the requirements of your service. You’ll be serving discerning gentlemen with refined tastes. Such men expect to be obeyed in all things. So we will have to ensure you’re fit for their requirements,” the doctor said, and abruptly thrust his hand between her legs.

It distracted her from her shock at his words, and she gave a little cry as he prodded her somewhere sensitive. He withdrew his hand and made a note on his clipboard, looking over his spectacles.  “Intact. Do you masturbate?”

“I don’t you know what you mean.” She had a vague idea that the word was a filthy one, but they’d been protected from learning anything about men or their desires. What happened in the marriage bed was something that they had been told their future husbands would explain, should they be fortunate enough to have them. Olivia couldn’t help wondering now if the headmistress’s concern for their innocence might not have been in part intended to keep them from possibly guessing their eventual fate.

He made another note. “Do you stimulate your clitoris or penetrate yourself to produce orgasms?”

“I – I still don’t understand.”

“Do you touch yourself, between your legs?”

“Only when – when I wash,” she stammered. She tried not to linger over it, although sometimes the drag of the washcloth between her legs made her feel odd and shameful sensations that she was certain the other girls didn’t suffer from.

“Sit on the table, and put your legs in the stirrups,” Dr. Graves said.

“I’ll have to spread my legs, you’ll see my … my private parts,” Olivia stuttered.

“That’s the purpose of the examination.”

Slowly, reluctantly, she climbed up on the table and hooked her knees over the brackets, resting her feet in the stirrups. Her thighs were spread, and after she was settled, Dr. Graves did something to adjust the stirrups that spread her knees even wider.

“The patient has an intact hymen and reports no history of masturbation,” Dr. Graves said, writing as he spoke. “Time to orgasm will be measured with and without vaginal penetration to provide a baseline for monitoring educational progress. Mechanical vibration will be used to stimulate the patient to orgasm.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a simple medical procedure,” Dr. Graves said. “First, I’m going to stimulate your nipples and clitoris manually.” He touched one of her nipples and rolled it around in his fingers, and it hardened again, feeling sensitive almost to the point of aching. He did the same to the other nipple, pinching it lightly a few times, and then reached between her legs.

She flinched, expecting pain, but instead he massaged a place just above where her folds began. It felt strange, like when she rubbed the washcloth between her legs, but even more intense, almost but not quite painful. It was hard to stay still, but she made the effort, trying to behave like a young lady too grown up to flinch from a medical examination.

He withdrew his hand and made a note. “The patient shows clear signs of arousal from manual stimulation. Next, an external vibrator will be used.” He swung a metal arm out from the table and brought it around between her legs. It held some kind of device that ended in a flat disk that he pushed down until it touched her where his hand had been.

“Beginning vibration,” he said, and she felt the disk begin to vibrate against her sensitive parts.

There was a pulsing, warm sensation that spread throughout Olivia’s private parts. For a while, that was all that happened, and she began to feel that she would be all right. This was embarrassing, but it was simply a medical procedure, and this was a medical instrument pressed against her, for the purpose of some sort of test of her responses that she didn’t pretend to understand.  

The feeling between her legs was becoming harder to ignore, a tickly ache. Dr. Graves was watching her intently, occasionally looking between her legs and then making another note. The sensation was intense now, like an itch that prickles and burns until it’s scratched, and she felt the urge to put her fingers between her legs and rub the place that was so inflamed. That was impossible, though, while she was being watched, and she felt her cheeks flame at the reminder of what the doctor was seeing.

“I must ask you to remain still,” he said, and she tried. The metal device vibrated between her legs, and the parts it touched was beginning to throb. The vibration continued, relentless, until suddenly the hot feeling swelled to a violent and overwhelming throbbing that wouldn’t stop. She felt her private parts contracting in cramps that felt anything but than painful.

“Please stop, it’s — something’s happening, I can’t stand it—”

“Time to first orgasm, eight minutes twenty-three seconds,” Dr. Graves said, and she gasped as the hard throbbing overwhelmed her, and then, a merciful relief, finally eased as he swung the metal disk away. Afterwards, she could still feel the itch provoked by the vibration, the need for something to happen, but it was much farther off again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure why she felt so ashamed, but she did, a hot mortification through her entire body.

“Second trial, adding vaginal penetration,” Dr. Graves said. He reached over to the tray, and picked up a glass rod of some sort. It looked something like a thermometer, but much larger, bigger around than a man’s thumb. He poured oil over it from a small bottle, and then held it between her legs. “You may feel some discomfort as your hymen is breached.”

She gasped as the cold tip of it touched her folds, and then her breath caught harder as it slid it. It hurt, a burning stretch. “It’s too big, I can’t.”

“Nonsense, you’ll take bigger than this before we’re done with the examination,” Dr. Graves said. “By the time you’re ready to go into service, you’ll be able to have a man’s fist inside you without undue discomfort.” He thrust firmly, and she cried out as the stretch became a sharp pain, and then eased. He withdrew the rod and made a note. “That’s your virginity disposed of,” he said.

“You mean I’m not a virgin anymore?”

“Your hymen is broken. Believe me, you won’t miss it in your training.” He picked up a second rod, even larger, and oiled it.

“Please, I can’t have that inside me,” she said.

“Hold still,” the doctor said, and pressed the thick glass rod into her.

It was a different kind of pain, a stretchy ache, and she shuddered and tried not to move. Finally the whole thing was in. “Is that all?”

He swung the metal arm back around and pressed the vibrating disk to her folds again. “Beginning the trial with vaginal penetration,” he said.

The pulsing sensation began again, and this time she could feel the throbbing deep within her where the glass rod was pressing her open. It spread and mounted, a shivery deep itch that cried out to be satisfied. She twisted her hips, trying to get away, but it only made the glass rod shift inside her.

She felt the little cramps beginning again already. “Please take it out, it’s happening again – please, I don’t want to!”

“Time to second orgasm, two minutes sixteen seconds,” the doctor said, and the throbbing overwhelmed her again, her private parts contracting hard against the rod, painful and pleasurable at the same time. It went on and on, making her whimper and gasp for breath, and when it was done, she still felt the same deep throbbing, as if she were mortifyingly close to doing it all over again.

She waited desperately for him to move the vibrating disk and make it stop, but this time he left it in place. “Doctor, something’s wrong with me – something keeps happening to me,” she confessed.

“Yes, you’re certainly easily orgasmic,” the doctor said. “That’s all right, the sort of gentleman you’ll be going to expects it. By the time you leave here, you’ll be trained to have orgasms during any kind of sexual relations, for his pleasure.”

The throbbing was building up again, deeper and harder this time, and she twisted her hips. “I’d never do this during … relations.”

“You will,” Dr. Graves said. “Now, third orgasm, occurring at –“ He checked his watch, and then made a note, while she whimpered as the throbbing mounted to another peak of hot, cramping pleasure that left a deep ache behind it. To her horror, it began to happen again before she’d even stopped contracting around the glass rod, another peak that made her cry out, but that she thought must, must be the last one.

“Trials will continue until the subject goes ten minutes without reaching another climax.”

It seemed to go on forever. She felt the throbbing building up again, but her legs were beginning to ache, and her parts felt sore and chafed. It was a relief when the little cramps began, wringing the burst of pleasure from her, and then her stomach dropped as she realized the doctor was resetting his stopwatch.

This time, the tickly feeling took far longer to build, the vibration against her parts starting to feel like a battering. She lay there drained and exhausted, her legs still painfully spread, certain that this time the ten minutes would pass without another “orgasm” happening to her.

“Another minute, and we’ll call this done,” Dr. Graves said.

She relaxed, and then regretted it. Somehow she’d been tensing herself, holding off the throbbing sensation, but now it swelled up terribly intensely, and she felt herself start to contract treacherously around the glass rod. She tried to hold it off, or at least to give no sign, her face heating with the effort. Surely she could endure it silently, surely the doctor needn’t know.

“Sixth orgasm, nine minutes twenty seconds,” he said, and the first tears rolled down her cheeks as she reached another exhausting, excruciating peak.

She was sobbing by the time the next ten minutes were over, sure that at any moment, she was going to reach another awful climax and begin the test all over again. It was a shock when the metal disk abruptly swung away from her abused parts.

When the glass rod slid out of her, she felt herself contract hard, one treacherous throb of pleasure that left a wave of warmth behind it.

“We won’t count that one,” the doctor said, and handed her a handkerchief as he helped her to sit up. She felt a desperate gratitude, and sniffled into it, wiping away her tears. He handed her the shift she’d removed, and she slipped it back on. It all felt unreal now that she was clothed again. Had she really lain there convulsed again and again by unwanted climaxes? Her parts ached, and her thighs were wet and shaking with exhaustion. Was she truly to be trained to have them on purpose, for a man?

As if in answer, the doctor said, “Sit on the edge of the table, spread your legs, and lift your shift.”

She almost refused, unable to bear the idea of being touched again where she was so sensitive, but slowly, reluctantly, she obeyed.

He pressed one finger to the place that had seemed to be the center of the awful, electric waves of pleasure that had overcome her. “This is your clitoris,” he said. “I want you to massage it with your fingers for at least thirty minutes every night. If you experience an orgasm, make a note of it in your composition book. It’s important that we track your progress.”

“And if I don’t?”

He looked at her over his glasses. “Your punishment for disobedience would be up to the headmistress, but for my part, we’d need to repeat this examination to establish a new baseline. I don’t expect you want that.”

“No, please, not again—”

“Thirty minutes every night, then, please, and if you haven’t experienced an orgasm within a fortnight, I will need to examine you again,” he said, and finally let her dress again; she did up her buttons with trembling hands.

That same night she lay in her bed, rubbing herself as she had been instructed, pressing her other hand to her mouth and trying not to make a sound, and knew it was going to happen to her again. It was going to keep happening, every time she rubbed herself, and she was going to have to write it down, and – there would be worse to come, she was sure, humiliating training she could barely even imagine –

She cried out as one more throbbing climax cramped through her sore and sensitive parts. She lay for a moment waiting for the last achy waves of sensation to abate, so that she could move without provoking another excruciating aftershock. Then reluctantly, shakily, she climbed out of bed to write down what had happened, beginning the record of her new course of education.


End file.
